


Let it Go

by lemonsorbae



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, character bleeding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-23
Updated: 2014-01-23
Packaged: 2018-01-09 17:46:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1148992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemonsorbae/pseuds/lemonsorbae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After filming 9x10 Jensen character bleeds. Misha reminds Jensen who he is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let it Go

**Author's Note:**

> Ugh. I've never written Cockles before so. Cross posted from my [tumblr](http://www.jimmynovakisaved.tumblr.com/). Written for [Mini](http://www.vampstiel.tumblr.com/) who wanted h/c after 9x10.

When they wrap Jensen’s heart is racing. There’s a tangle of thoughts swirling inside his head, some his own, but the majority of them Dean’s, and he suddenly feels tired from trying to keep it all separated.

There’s a shuffle of movement around him, people moving in to strike the set, Jared gripping Jensen’s shoulder and giving it a knowing squeeze before lumbering away to wash off his makeup, but it all happens in a blur, Jensen’s brain honing in on itself in a demanding suppression.

He can feel Misha’s gaze on him from across set, the heavy blue weighing down on him, but he can’t bring himself to meet the other man’s eyes and after a few seconds, Misha is gone and Jensen is left alone with his - and Dean’s - thoughts.

 

The small apartment he occupies during filming season is dark when he gets home, no lights or bodies to welcome him, and the darkness he’s been feeling from their latest episode wraps itself more tightly around him. Dean’s lines echo inside his brain and shroud him in a cloud of guilt that isn’t real, prickling at his skin and slicking his palms with an anxious sweat.

He drops his stuff by the front door, locks it behind him, and goes straight for the liquor cabinet.

 

Jensen has no knowledge of what time it is, or how long he’s been zoned out on Twilight Zone re-runs, when he hears the scrape of a key in his front door. He’s contemplating getting up when Misha’s lean frame appears in front of the television, silhouetting him in the dreary black and white on the screen behind him.

"Figured I’d find you like this," he says as he leans in and uncurls Jensen’s fingers from the neck of the bottle he has in his grasp. The contents were gone several hours ago, but the feel of it in his hand was somehow welcoming, grounding, and he hadn’t been able to let go.

“‘Mm fine,” Jensen slurs, glaring up at Misha who’s standing above him again.

"I saw you internalizing on set," Misha accuses, "you haven’t answered any of my calls," he stops to let out a long sigh, eyeing the empty bottle in his hands before muttering, "Shit, Jensen, what are you doing?"

Jensen opens his mouth to snap, to demand Misha leave him to deal with his feelings in peace, but Misha is wrapping long fingers around Jensen’s wrist and hauling him to his feet and all Jensen can do is go quietly.

Misha flips the television off and leads Jensen out of the room and into the bathroom that connects to his small bedroom. Misha closes the door behind them and gets the shower running before turning to Jensen and reaching careful fingers out to peel Jensen out of his clothes.

A silence envelopes the bathroom, almost as thick and pressing as the steam bellowing out from the shower, but Jensen finds that if he keeps his bleary eyes locked on Misha’s face, he can find himself a little in the dark pool of angst he seems to be drowning in.

He lets himself be stripped down, manhandled until he’s naked and shivering, and then goes willingly when Misha guides him to the shower and instructs him to get in. When he turns his back to obey, he hears the gentle rustle of clothing falling to the ground behind him and he’s grateful to know he’s not going to be left alone.

The water is hot, steam curling the hair that rests just behind Misha’s ears and at the base of his neck, and as they crowd into the shower, Misha pushes Jensen under the spray and shuffles in close. Jensen doesn’t speak, just drops his forehead to Misha’s shoulder and pushes into the slick press of fingers tracing along his spine as the water beats against his back and shoulders, sluicing down his body in searing streams.

“ _Let it go_ ,” Misha mutters in Jensen’s ear. The words weave through the mess of emotions raging through Jensen, some Dean Winchester’s some his own, and run soothingly over his fraying nerves. It’s easier said than done, they both know that, but the simplicity of the statement and the quiet touches from the man across from him has the tension in Jensen’s shoulders easing ever so slightly.

Misha places a soft kiss on Jensen’s temple, a barley there press of lips, and then reaches for Jensen’s bottle of soap, squeezing a dollop into his hands and rubbing them together. His hands begin to slide over Jensen’s body in a caress that speaks of support and acceptance, love and worth, and the emotions seep into Jensen’s skin and begin to melt the ice that’s formed around his heart.

"Mish," Jensen chokes out, but Misha shushes him and pushes his fingers into the hair at the base of Jensen’s skull.

Misha melds their lips together, attentive yet demanding, while his free hand wanders between them until his fingers are brushing against Jensen’s cock.

Jensen starts at the touch and then pushes into it greedily, his hands coming up to grasp at Misha’s hips as he allows the other man to work him to hardness.

They’ve done this before, a thousand times, but this time feels different somehow, the desperation to be taken care of simmering beneath Jensen’s skin, threatening to boil over.

Misha keeps at it until Jensen is hard in his grasp, curving upwards, and then he curls his fingers into a tight grip and begins the up-down movement along Jensen’s length.

“ _Let it go_ ,” he says again and then brings their lips together again, pushing his tongue into Jensen’s mouth and gripping his hair more tightly.

Jensen gives himself over to the tightness around his dick and the feel of Misha pressed in so close to him. His fingers are digging into Misha’s skin, sliding for purchase on the slippery, wet of the other man’s hips and his brain begins to fog over, not from the alcohol he’d consumed, or the suffocation of his character, but from Misha demanding his attention.

He zeros in on the other man, the glide of their lips together, and the tugging at the back of his skull, and Dean Winchester begins to slide off of him with the suds and water dripping from his body and down the drain. There’s still an echo of the lines he’d recited earlier that day, a mark inside of him that’s been magnified from years worth of character development and blurred lines, but it’s waning, the burden of it lessening with each touch administered by Misha.

When Jensen comes it’s with Misha’s teeth grazing the underside of his jaw, mouthing along the scruff Jensen’s been allowed to keep, and deft fingers pumping him through his release.

“ _Misha_ ,” he gasps and clenches his eyes shut as he buries his fingers into Misha’s hips, desperate for something to hold onto as he pulses through his orgasm.

"I’ve got you," Misha responds, "just let it go."

When Jensen’s footing has steadied and Misha has scrubbed them both clean Misha turns the shower off and pads into the closet just off of the bathroom, bringing back with him two fluffy towels. He throws one over Jensen’s head and rubs it across his hair in an erratic motion and when he pulls it away, a smirk grows on his face.

"Nice hair," he chides.

Jensen can feel a small smile forming on his own lips, the first he’s felt in hours, and he offers a good hearted, “Shut up,” back before running the towel over the rest of his body and tossing it into the hamper behind him.

When they’re both dry, Misha leads Jensen into Jensen’s bedroom turning off the lights as he goes. Tired from the warmth of whiskey in his belly and an orgasm, Jensen climbs onto the bed with drooping eyes and heavy limbs. He drops himself down in the middle of the bed and shivers at the cool sheets sliding across his skin as Misha pulls them up around him.

There’s the soft press of lips on his eyelids, his forehead, his lips, and then Misha is pushing Jensen onto his side and sidling up behind him. They’re touching in every way possible, the hard line of Misha’s chest pressed against Jensen’s back, their thighs and claves tangling together, and Jensen begins to give into the sleep that’s descending on his brain.

Misha’s arm wraps around Jensen’s midsection, his hand coming to rest on Jensen’s chest and Jensen doesn’t protest when Misha twines their fingers together. His lips find their way to Jensen’s shoulder, kissing at each and every freckle and Jensen hears once again, the quiet command of, “ _let it go_.”

And finally, feeling warm and safe wrapped up in Misha’s arms, he does. 


End file.
